


When worlds collide

by Onlythegodsarereal



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Slow Burn, There will be other ships, r is a prince, Éponine has a sword
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-10-02 12:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlythegodsarereal/pseuds/Onlythegodsarereal
Summary: In a faraway land, a war has been vexing the people for decades, but a beacon of hope is born with the announcement of the arranged engagement of Prince Grantaire and Sir Enjolras. Will these two young men be able to overcome their differences and bring to their lands the much-desired peace? Will they be able to learn to love and trust amidst politics and diplomacy? And what is the difference between the history written in the books and what truly happened?





	1. In which a decision is taken

Grantaire spared a glance to the water clock in front of him: two hours. It had been two hours since the Wide Council had started their session and still there had not been a vote.

Maya and Jaq were still arguing, the former was pacing the floor with anger while the latter sat tensely at the other side of the room. Lyri lay beside him in silence. She hadn’t uttered a word since they had entered the room limiting herself to observe with mild interest her siblings’ argument, but Grantaire had caught her glancing briefly at him a few times with ill-concealed worry.

“You shouldn’t even be able to be here,” Jaq reminded his younger sister with an annoyed look.

“Oh please, we are discussing my brother’s future. I have all the rights to stay here, besides, Lyra invited me.”

“Lyri is not queen yet,” Jaq noted with vehemence.

“She practically has been for the last ten years.”

“This is not the point. The law is the law and we must respect it, us more than anyone else.”

Maya snorted disapprovingly.

“The law is the reason why we find ourselves in this situation in the first place.”

“It doesn’t come as a surprise to me that you have no respect for the law whatsoever,” commented Jaq maliciously.

“Well, yes, I happen to think that some of these precious laws of yours are unfair and this is why I abdicated and I think R should abdicate too.”

“This is enough.”

Lyri had risen up and had spoken for the first time in two hours. Her voice didn’t admit any reply so the two fighting siblings closed their mouths and simply resolved to stare at each other with hostility.

“It is too late for this kind of talks. Grantaire took his decision and now his future is in the hands of the Council.”

“What other option did you leave him, please do tell?” Pressed Maya angrily.

“He had plenty other options, Maya, stop being so dramatic,” replied Jaq biting.

“I said it’s enough,” repeated Lyri with finality. “We’re here to support Grantaire not to give him a headache before the responsum.”

Silence filled the small room for a handful of seconds before Maya started talking again.

“How long is it taking, for the gods? I didn’t remember Wide Councils being so slow.”

“It is a heavy decision to take, it mostly goes against our people’s traditions, but it could save a lot of lives,” Lyri explained calmly throwing one of her concerned glances towards her little brother.

“If Gaea were here…” started Maya just to be interrupted immediately by Grantaire.

“But she’s not. It doesn’t make sense speaking of her right now.”

It was the first time he spoke since the Wide Council had started its session and it startled his siblings into shock for a couple of instants.

“R is right. Gaea isn’t here. We have to accept this situation and we must respect R’s decision, it was his choice to make and he handled it like a true prince of our people,” Lyri said and placed a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder reassuringly. “I couldn’t have been prouder of you, my dear,” she continued in a whisper meant only for him. Her other hand rested on her swollen belly.

A couple of months more and Grantaire was going to become an uncle. He started wondering if it was possible for him to be able to see his nephew or niece grow up or if that was something he had given up when he offered his destiny to the Council.

His life wasn’t supposed to go like that. He was the third child of the queen, not destined to become the future king or the high priest, he should have become the head of the Diplomatic Council: travels, seeing the world, maybe a marriage one day, assisting at his sister’s coronation, but the war had put all of their lives in front of a dead end. He didn’t resent Gaea for what she had done, nothing of what was happening was her fault, there was no shame in taking the easy road. So at least his mother had said when the news of her youngest child fleeing to the Desert Lands had reached her. Opinions on the matter were widely divergent among their family and he had still to take his own stand.

Before he could reach a conclusion, they heard a soft knock at the door and a moment later, the kind face of Cosette appeared at the threshold.

“They just finished voting,” she announced almost shily. “They request princess Lyrian presence for the final count and they’re offering prince Grantaire to be present too if he desires.”

Lyri and Grantaire nodded and followed the young woman outside. Once out of the suffocating room, Grantaire raised his eyes towards the sky searching the strength he felt was fleeing from him in them, but the stars just blinked coldly at him without any sign of reassurance. He then turned his gaze to the water which lapped at the side of the boat languidly and reflected the light of the stars but with more movement and warmth. As always, the sight of the placid flow of the river calmed him and he was able to breathe normally again.

They stopped in front of the Wide Council’s room’s door. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta were there too, in what must have been a big breach in the protocol but Lyri didn’t seem to care. The moment they saw him approaching they reached him, all trying to smile encouragingly, but failing miserably: Grantaire could see his own concerns reflected in their eyes.

“They didn’t let Jehan come on the Council’s ship,” Bossuet informed. His, usually softer, mountains’ accent was heavier than ever which could only mean he was too tensed to worry about pronunciation.

“Bahorel’s staying with them, though. They were so anxious, we couldn’t let them alone,” Joly added with his eyes wet and clearly forcing himself not to cry.

“R, it’s time for us to join the Council. They’re probably waiting for us for the final responsum,” his sister reminded him kindly. Her voice was filled with guilt.

Grantaire wished he could find the words to make her understand that it wasn’t her fault either, that she was not queen yet, that she could not meddle in the Council’s affairs, that she had not guided his decision, but he knew quite well that there were not eloquent enough words to convince his sister of that.

He glanced at the wooden door in front of them. Never, in his whole life, it had looked so menacing.

“I can’t go inside,” Grantaire found himself saying even if he hadn’t programmed to say it at all. Lyri turned towards him and caressed his cheek with tenderness.

“Wait here with your friends then, you’ve been brave enough for today,” she said to him before giving a soft kiss on the crown of his head and then disappearing inside the Wide Council’s room.

His friends circled him immediately. They stayed there in silence, glaring at the wooden door, tensed expression on their faces, unable to speak even to reassure their best friend, but Grantaire felt already better just for their presence. Cosette cleared her throat and intoned a lullaby in her mother-tongue in a half-whispered voice. Grantaire didn’t know the Arboreal language very well, but he knew enough to comprehend it had been written after the great exodus: it talked about loss and traveling far from home, but also about hope and love. Cosette could be like that sometimes. He appreciated it though, he closed his eyes and lied his head on Musichetta’s chest trying to synchronize his shaky breathing with her calmer one.

Sometime passed. He wouldn’t have been able to say how much, but finally, the door opened again. Lyri emerged from it, an unreadable expression on her face. Her eyes took in the small group huddled around her brother and she sighed deeply.

“Well, congratulation, my dear brother, you are an engaged man now,” she announced and if Grantaire hadn’t known her so well he wouldn’t have noticed the soft shaking of her voice.

He took her words in and almost felt his heart drop.

He was engaged. Engaged with a man he had never seen before. A man from the Dry Lands. A man who was going to take him away from his family, his friends and his people. He felt something warm and wet flowing down his face and he realized he was crying.

“Everything is going to be all right, R, do you hear me? We’ll be with you,” Bossuet whispered in his hear hugging him tightly. “We’ll never leave you alone.”

“Musichetta, take him to bed now, please. It would not be proper if someone saw him like this before the official announcement,” Lyri said in her regal tone.

Grantaire knew she had to slip back in her hereditary-princess role, that it had to be difficult for her too, but he could not help but hate the way she spoke and moved when she was like that. He felt the need to drink something, something strong. Drink until the memories of the last two days were swept away from his mind. He started wobbling in the direction of his own ship, where his lodgings were, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Wallow in your despair tonight, if you must,” his sister told him in that cold and detached voice that she used to give orders. “But tomorrow it’ll be a new day and you’ll have to be a prince again. Our role is to bring hope to our people and the only way to give hope is to be hopeful in the first place. Don’t see this marriage as the end of your journey, my dear brother, but the start of a new world, a better world, a peaceful one.”

He nodded and smiled at Lyri and kept his smile frozen on his face while he watched her going away with the first members of the Council leaving the boat to reach their families. When the echo of their steps was lost under the sound of the waves against the sides of the boat, though, he shattered against Bossuet's chest and Cosette started singing louder to cover the sounds of his sobs while they brought him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Hope you liked this chapter, but this is more an epilogue the next one (which I've already written) will be longer and will start the real plot. I'll try to post every two weeks, but I'm more focused on finishing my first WIP so it'll probably happen that I'll be late. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think about this story in the comments or come say hi to [lenezdansleruisseau](https://lenezdansleruisseau.tumblr.com/)


	2. In which hospitality is sacred

Enjolras stopped suddenly. There were voices coming from behind the trees. There was no shortage of stories about the bandits of the Whispering Wood and even though he knew they were mostly exaggerated to impress children, he also knew that only an idiot would have travel carelessly through those trees. He listened closely once again, but the voices seemed to have disappeared, probably it had been the sound of the wind among the leaves, the wood had taken his name from somewhere after all.

“Are you nervous?” Whispered Combeferre leaning towards him.

“No,” he lied.

“Oh, come on, Enj! Of course, your nervous, you’re going to spend the next month with your future husband, whom you’ve never met before in your life and who’s part of a totally different people and culture,” commented Courfeyrac resting a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder.

“Thank you, Courf. I bet he feels much better now,” deadpanned Combeferre.

“Hey, I was just trying to make him open up!”

“Why have you stopped?” Asked Marius reaching them.

“Yes, is there something wrong?” Inquired Eponine worried.

The two had stayed behind with the donkey carrying their baggage, Eponine had made more than clear that she didn’t trust any of them to guard it but she had consented to be helped by Marius, probably because she was afraid that he might have got lost if she hadn’t kept an eye on him the whole time.

“No, nothing bad, just Enjolras meeting his own emotions for the first time,” answered Courfeyrac.

“Courfeyrac!” Exclaimed Combeferre chastising.

“What? It’s true.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem a good enough reason to stop in the middle of the wood at night,” commented Eponine looking around nervously.

“Ponine, you should be more understanding, it’s a difficult moment for Enjolras,” said Marius disapproving.

“Could you all please stop speaking as if I weren’t here? I’m all right. I was just trying to listen if someone was approaching,” said Enjolras trying to sound calm, but probably missing by a lot from the looks on his friends' faces.

“Shall we go then? Still targets are wild lions’ favorite meal.” Said Eponine breaking the tense silence and leading the way.

“I was just trying to say,” Courfeyrac went on after a couple of seconds of quiet. “That maybe Enjolras should consider talking about his feelings on the subject of his arranged marriage seeing that he didn’t utter one single word on the matter since when his father broke the news to him.”

“Maybe I talked about it with someone else,” Enjolras proposed annoyed by his friend’s insistence. Courfeyrac broke into a sarcastic laugh.

“Yes, no, I don’t believe so. Firstly, you know I would let myself die of sadness if I discovered you decided not to confide with me. Secondly, the only other person you could have gone to is Combeferre who, as we all know, can’t keep a secret on his life.”

“Sadly true,” confirmed Combeferre.

“I could have gone to Marius,” insisted Enjolras who had no intention to let Courfeyrac win on that particular subject.

“Listen, I love Marius, but everyone here knows that you would rather confess your feelings publicly rather than talk of them with him.”

“Yes, I know it too,” said Marius resigned and Courfeyrac patted him on the back understanding.

“Silence,” Eponine ordered putting herself in between Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

“Ponine, we know you have Enjolras’ same problem with sharing your emotions, but even you must agree that in this particular situation…” Courfeyrac started but the young woman silenced him with her hand over his mouth.

“No, there is someone over those trees,” she whispered, her eyes scanning the vegetation in front of them. Enjolras noted she had one hand over the hilt of her sword. They all remained still and in complete silence for several instants before Eponine’s stance relaxed again and she gave a sigh of relief. “They’re talking the Rivers’ language, they’re probably our escort,” she informed them, taking the donkey’s reins in her hands again and resuming walking towards the voices. The other four followed her immediately, they, in turn, relieved that they weren’t going against a group of bandits for the time being.

They passed another line of trees and then found themselves in a small clearance, in the middle of it, sat on some rocks, two people were talking animatedly around a small fire. The moment the two figures noticed them, they raised up immediately to welcome them. From closer and with the light of the small fire, Enjolras recognized a big bulky man with a long braid which reached his middle, completely naked but for an embroidered cloth tied around his hips; the other one was a woman, littler than her companion, with wild curly hair and round golden eyes, she was dressed as the other but she also had numerous necklaces hanging from her elegant neck. Enjolras suddenly felt overdressed. The two both shared the dark brown hair and olive complexion typical of the People of the Rivers.

“Welcome, Warden Enjolras and illustrious companions. My name’s Musichetta and he’s Bahorel, we’re part of Prince Grantaire’s Court and we’re here to escort you to our camp,” said the woman after a brief bow.

Enjolras remembered Combeferre explaining to him, during their travel, that every member of the People of the Rivers’ royal family had a sort of circle of sworn counselors and helpers called Court. He was very glad Combeferre had made him those lessons otherwise he would have already been confused.

“I hope your travel went well?” Asked the man, Bahorel, distracting Enjolras from his thoughts.

“Yes, it went pretty well, thank you," he answered a little hastily. "Let me introduce you to my fine friends, Combeferre of Eos, Courfeyrac of Arena, Marius Pontmercy and his sworn sword, Eponine Thénardier.”

“Honoured to meet you,” they both said in chorus bowing again. The movement seemed a little rehearsed and Enjolras suspected they had been told that the people of the Empire liked bows which wasn’t totally a lie, but nor he nor one of his friends shared that trait with their own people.

In that moment they heard sounds of people approaching fast and shouting. In the corner of his eye, Enjolras saw Eponine setting in defense position one step in front of Marius, but it was soon clear that, again, there was no reason to be alarmed: there were two men walking fast towards them carrying trails, they seemed both mortified and out of breath and they both wore the same attire as Musichetta and Bahorel. Of the two of them one was tall and lean and he had the ebony skin of the people of the Dragon Backbone, the mountain range which divided the Empire from the Soaked Lands, while the other one was smaller, even more than Musichetta and he had the features typical of the Free Cities of the Pirates’ Gulf.

Enjolras was not surprised: the People of the Rivers was famous to welcome people from everywhere in the Lands and he had heard that, outside the Empire, numerous members of the nobility would send their children to be educated on the Rivers’ People’s fleet.

“Honourable guests, let me introduce you Bossuet and Joly, other two members of Prince Grantaire’s Court,” said Bahorel trying to hide a smile. The two newcomers arrived shouting apologies and the taller one nearly stepped on Bahorel’s foot, Musichetta rolled her eyes.

“We beg your forgiveness, Warden Enjolras, for not being ready to welcome you with our companions. We came across an inconvenience while walking here,” the smaller one said out of breath. Musichetta turned to them and started reprimanded them in their native language, Enjolras thought she was nearly as intimidating as Eponine.

Enjolras once again focused on the Rivers’ People traditional attire, but this time was surprised to notice thin, silvery and swirling lines covering half of the left leg of the one called Joly. He had never seen something like that before, but before he could inquire after that, Bahorel approached them with an apologetic expression.

“I’m very sorry about this," he whispered to them. "Usually, Musichetta is a lot more professional than this unless she’s around this two, that is. Which, actually, happens very often. So, anyway, would you like some refreshments?” Saying so he took the two trails from his friends’ hands.

“What is in there?” Courfeyrac asked curious pointing to the five thin glasses containing a light orange liquid.

“This is tangerine liquor, is one of our people’s specialties. Try it, it’s delicious,” he answered and offered one glass directly to Enjolras who hold it gingerly took by surprise, but before he could bring it to his mouth Combeferre had stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“Enjolras doesn’t drink alcohol,” he informed them.

At those words, Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet stopped their banter to give their complete attention to Enjolras who tried really hard not to blush.

“It’s not a problem, really, it must be delicious, I want to try it,” he insisted glaring at Combeferre. They were there to make a good impression, lives of innocent people depended on their behavior, and Combeferre kept doing the mother hen with him as if what Enjolras wanted or didn’t want was more important.

“There’s no need, Warden Enjolras, there really isn’t. We produce a lot of other beverages which are not alcoholic. We won’t take offense, we’re here to make you feel welcome. Taste one of our stuffed dates instead, they’re made with almonds and honey,” said Musichetta pointing to the other trail and Enjolras had never felt more relieved in his entire life. He saw Bossuet whispering something to his companions eliciting a smile from the two other men and a disapproving look from Musichetta, but Courfeyrac’s dramatic declaration of love towards the new food distracted him long enough to forget about it.

Soon it was time to head to the camp. Bahorel, after a lot of complaining, was charged with the task of guiding the donkey. Bossuet had offered to do it himself but Musichetta had refused categorically. They entered the forest once again, mostly in silence apart from the polite chattering that Courfeyrac and Musichetta were trying to keep up.

“So, a woman soldier. I thought it was illegal for a woman to learn to use arms in the Empire,” Musichetta said turning to Eponine and pointing to the sword hanging from her side.

“Well, actually, it is illegal for the women of the Empire, but I’m not one of them so that law doesn’t apply to me,” Eponine explained.

“I don’t understand,” commented Joly confused.

“My family and I come from the Grey Forest, we’re not of the Empire,” she clarified.

“Yes, but now you live in the Empire, right? How’s it possible that the laws of the Empire don’t apply to you?”

“The Arboreal are not citizens of the Empire, we live under different laws,” she answered really slowly as if talking with very little children. At that point, she seemed as confused as their escorts and raised her eyes towards her companions searching for help.

“Are you saying that in the Empire there are people who live among you but to whom it is applied a completely different set of rules?” Asked Bahorel who looked not convinced at all.

“Not completely different, mostly different,” explained Combeferre who had taken peaty on Eponine.

“Well, this makes no sense at all,” commented Bossuet gaining Musichetta’s elbow in the ribs.

“What Bossuet was trying to very inelegantly say is that it’s a costume very different from ours, but it surely has its reason to exist seeing that it is used and respected by an illustrious family as the one of Warden Enjolras,” Musichetta corrected sending daggers with her eyes in the direction of her friends.

“Oh, yes, yes of course. It was not my intention to judge. Not at all,” Bossuet added immediately massaging the point where Musichetta had hit him with a pained expression.

“Sir Joly, it was my intention to ask you a question, if I’m not too indiscreet,” Enjolras said trying to break the awkward silence that had followed the previous exchange.

“I’m not a sir, Warden Enjolras. I am no warrior nor noble, I’m studying to become a healer,” Joly corrected him with a kind smile.

“My apologies, but I’ll take advantage of this correction to tell you all not to call me Warden, that is a title I have still to inherit. Only my father is the Warden of Goldenbank at the moment. Just Enjolras would do perfectly.”

“Of course, Enjolras,” Joly said with the same warm smile. Enjolras already liked him a lot. “But you had a question for me if I’m not wrong.”

“Yes, I was curious about the mechanism on your left leg, if it isn’t a too personal question.”

Now that he could watch it closer, Enjolras could notice it was actually made of strings of shining metal that changed position following the movements of the young man’s leg. To Enjolras’ eyes, it almost seemed like magic. Joly lowered his gaze and observed the mechanism as if he had just remembered it was there. Then smiled again and turned his eyes back on Enjolras.

“I was born with a bad leg, I would have been destined to spend my life walking with a cane, but Her Majesty the Queen designed this mechanism for me when I entered in prince Grantaire’s Court, now every person of the Rivers’ People with my same problem is provided with one,” he explained, his eyes full of admiration towards his queen.

“It is indeed an incredible invention,” commented Combeferre who had bowed slightly forward to better observe it. “Does it weight a lot?”

“Almost not at all. I usually forget I even wear it. When I used a cane, my leg used to get tired and hurt me so easily, but with this, I have a lot more resistance and I move exactly like everybody else. This is one of the reasons why I decided to become a healer, I want to help the people as Her Majesty helped me.”

“She must be an outstanding queen,” Courfeyrac commented clearly amazed by the story.

“And a very clever one too,” added Combeferre.

“She was. Well, she still is, of course, but since the Queen Consort’s death, Her Majesty has been, uhm, you know, grief sometimes can be the worst of sicknesses,” Joly said in a gloomy voice.

“Princess Lyrian though is taking the role of regent perfectly, she inherited the Queen’s grace and the Queen Consort’s diplomacy. She’s the pride of our people,” Musichetta hurried to state in an obvious attempt to lower the tension that had fallen above the small company.

Enjolras forced himself to smile and nod and he heard Courfeyrac reassure that no one of them had any doubt about the abilities of princess Lyrian as queen, but his own mind was elsewhere. He remembered the day the news of the massacre had arrived at the Goldenbank’s palace: he had been just a child, not five years old yet, but he remembered his father’s rage when the messenger had told him what his own army had done, the ambush to keep the Rivers’ People’s troops to bring helps to their allies in the Burnt Lands. There had been no survivors on the Rivers’ People side. The Queen Consort was at the head of those troops that dreadful day.

What had happened next was history: the Rivers’ People’s Queen had withdrawn her army from the war, even though numerous volunteers had kept fighting beside the nomads of the Burnt Lands, and his father had signed a fifteen-years-peace treaty with the Rivers’ People that was now going to become ever-lasting thanks to Enjolras’ arranged marriage with Prince Grantaire.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, wild music reached their ears, distracting him from his contemplations.

“Do you hear this music? This will be the sound of your home for the next month” said Musichetta proudly.

“Is that a fire?” Asked nervously Marius clearly talking about the reddish light visible behind the trees.

“No, those are bonfires,” answered Bossuet smiling and before they could realize it, the wood ended and they had finally a clear view of the riverbank.

Enjolras had grown up near a river. Goldenbank took its name from the Goldthread, the river that crossed the Dry Lands from the Dragon Backbone to the city of Arena on the Half-Moon Gulf, and that river, more or less at half of his course, passed through Enjolras’ city. Goldthread was a remarkable river, old legends told that once you would have been able to find gold on its bed, but even if the precious metal was nowhere to be seen those days and its waters were muddy and foamy from the wastes of the city, it was placid enough to navigate to increase the commerce and it was large enough that on misty days it was impossible to see the other side.

Despite this, Enjolras was not at all ready to the sight that was the Zephyr. It was a majestic river, with waters of the same dark blue of the sky which was reflected on it, placid and calm, it was so wide that it was impossible to see the other bank, in the darkness it seemed to have no end and the light of the moon and the stars was dancing on its waters giving the impression of silver threads embroidered on it. But that night it wasn’t the Zephyr that stole Enjolras’ breath: the camp spread in front of them seemed drawn from one of his mother’s fairy-tale. Dozens of bonfires casted their warm light across the bank, tents of every shape and color fluttered in the light breeze. People were singing and dancing to the wild music around the fires, children were running freely, trails of drinks and food were being passed around. Everywhere there was a whirl of music, laughs, colors, and perfumes.

“Welcome to Princess Lyrian and Prince Grantaire’s fleet,” said Joly opening his arms to encompass the magnificence of the whole sight in front of them.

“Well, technically now is a camp, but you’ll see the boats soon enough,” corrected Bossuet.

At his sides, he could feel Courfeyrac and Combeferre vibrating with the need to go and explore while, behind them, Marius was probably blushing more and more at every naked patch of skin and there were a lot. The People of the Rivers seemed to care covering only the part of their body from their hips down, sometimes not even that, and that wasn’t even the most scandalous thing: from the sounds coming from the tents, it was clear that their only purpose was to offer a barely private shelter for lovers.

“They truly are barbarians,” commented Marius in a whisper. Eponine snorted.

“Watch your tongue, Marius, we’re guests here,” retorted Combeferre with a glare.

Musichetta and the rest of the Court kept guiding them towards the biggest tent in the camp which also seemed the busiest and fullest of people, it was hidden behind a high bonfire though so Enjolras couldn’t make out who was under it.

“Is that the prince’s tent?” Asked Courfeyrac to Joly as if listening to Enjolras thoughts.

“Well, technically it is the royal tent, not specifically the prince’s one. But if you wanted to know if you’re going to find prince Grantaire there, the answer is yes.”

“So, the princess is going to be there too?” Pressed Courfeyrac.

“It is highly possible,” answered Joly with a shrug.

“They say she’s a beauty,” commented Courfeyrac earning a look of reprimand from Combeferre which he ignored completely. Fortunately, Joly laughed and Enjolras noticed a small smile forming also on Bossuet and Musichetta’s faces.

“Oh, she is really a beauty," said Bossuet still smiling. "But this isn’t the reason why she’s known, at least not outside the Dry Lands. Our people gave her the name of the Honey-tongued Princess, but I’ve also heard some call her the River Chimera.”

That time was Bossuet’s turn to receive a nasty look, but it was from Musichetta.

“And what about the prince?" Asked Marius curiously. "Does he have a name like that too?”

Musichetta muttered something in their language while Bossuet lowered his gaze embarrassed.

“Like many others of the royal family, our beloved prince has numerous names but the most used is the Green Prince,” answered Joly rather skittish.

“It would really be better to not use these names in front of them, anyway," said Musichetta hastily, stopping in front of the high bonfire near the royal tent. "Now, wait for me here while I introduce you to the Royal Courts.”

They nodded and then watched her disappear in the darkness beyond the flames. Around the bonfire there was a whole crowd singing and laughing, but most of the people were seated on the green grass or on colorful carpets permitting Enjolras and his friends to admire the intricate dance number that was being performed in the wide circle around the flames. A man and a woman were dancing in rhythm with the lively song sung by the bystanders, their movements were fluid and hypnotic and they were following flawlessly the fast music. Enjolras was shocked when he noticed that the woman was clearly pregnant and despite that, she moved with the same grace and agility of her partner. They were both half-naked as it was costume between their people and their bodies were beaded with sweat both from the effort and the warmth of the fire near which they were dancing. Their black hairs were lost in the darkness of the night and Enjolras could almost hear them swirling in the air. He felt enchanted by the rhythmic way in which their chests were moving, in which their muscles were shifting and how their light clothes were flying in the nocturnal air.

Abruptly, the song made a lull that gave the two dancers the opportunity to stop for a moment and turn around looking at the crowd, faces glistening and eyes ablaze. By pure chance, the man stared directly at Enjolras who felt his breath catching in his throat: he had never seen in all of his life such incredible eyes, the purest emerald and the wildest forest at the same time. There was something burning in those gorgeous eyes as if they contained some secret embers, they poured a warm sensation inside Enjolras’ chest and he felt his face color bright red. It all lasted for a moment, then the song started even more frantic than before and the dancer turned again towards his companion unaware of the confusion he had left in Enjolras’ mind.

The young man reprimanded himself sternly: he was there to ask the hand of the prince in marriage not to lust after some dancer. He really hoped Courfeyrac didn’t notice his blushing face or he was never going to hear the end of it.

Fortunately for him, at that moment reappeared Musichetta who made a gesture meaning for them to follow her and no one gave too much attention to Enjolras’ reddening face. Without the obstacle of the bonfire, the royal tent was a lot less busy than what had seemed from afar.

The princess and the prince sat on comfy cushions in the front of the tent with trays of food and wine around them while the rest of the Courts was laying around them chatting animatedly. The princess must have been beautiful as the stories said, judging by the look of pure adoration on Marius’ face: she had short hair of the color of copper adorned by a crown of white lilies and big round eyes the color of the winter sky, but she was smaller and younger than Enjolras had imagined. The prince was really handsome too, and Enjolras hated the pang of relief he felt after noticing that. It was clear why they called him the Green Prince: he was dressed head to toe in a green silk tunic and he was crowned with ivy while multicolored flowers were braided in his long, raven hair: he seemed more a flowers' spirit than a human being.

Enjolras found himself at a loss of words, probably for the first time in his life. He had forgotten everything Combeferre had thought him about the Rivers’ People’s etiquette and he was slowly descending into panic.

“Enjolras, honored friends," was saying Musichetta with an official tone while pointing to the prince and the princess. "Let me introduce you…”

Without letting her finish Enjolras bowed immediately taking off his hat with a theatrical gesture he had seen performed by Courfeyrac in more than one occasion.

“It is an honor for me meeting your royal highnesses,” he said trying to hide the tremble in his voice.

A second passed in complete silence before the princess and a great part of the two Courts started laughing. Enjolras raised his eyes mortified. The prince wasn’t laughing, but he had an amused smile on his lips which didn’t help Enjolras at all. Musichetta seemed to have lost the ability to speak while Bahorel and Bossuet were using each other as support to not fell forward with laughter.

“Cosette, you’re being absolutely unwelcoming to our hosts,” said the prince to his sister but he seemed more delighted than chastising.

“You’re right," she admitted sheepishly, then she turned to Enjolras and the others. "I apologize for my behavior, you just took me by surprise. It’ll be better if I go to call R and Lyri,” she added before rising up and get out of the tent, but Enjolras could hear her laughter even while she was walking away.

He fought with the lump in his throat and forced himself to speak again.

“If I had disrespected your highnesses in any way…”

The prince moved a hand in the air to call for silence.

“You didn’t disrespect anyone, Warden Enjolras if anything you paid me a great compliment." Someone from one of the Courts grunted but no one else commented. "The fact is that what our dear Musichetta was going to say is that my name’s Jehan Prouvaire, heir to Daisies Field in the Mellow Lands while the lovely lady who was at my side was Euphrasie Fauchelevent, the daughter of one of our precious members of the Wide Council.”

They were not the prince and princess. Enjolras felt like throwing up. He hadn’t even met the prince yet and he had already offended him, his sister and probably half of his Court.

“Someone helps the kid, he’s going to faint,” commented a pink-haired woman behind Jehan Prouvaire sounding only mildly concerned.

“This is why official presentations exist,” said Combeferre reprimanding Enjolras who was just praying for the earth to swallow him whole.

“There’s really no reason to be worried, we had no idea of your look either, Warden Enjolras, and me and prince Grantaire respect each other enough not to take offense in being confused with one another,” said Jehan Prouvaire with a sweet voice.

“Well, of course, in no way it could be possibly intended as an insult,” added Courfeyrac with a charming smile, but it sounded strained.

“We didn’t think Enjolras had intended that as an insult at all,” assured immediately Musichetta.

An embarrassed silence fell under the tent. Jehan Prouvaire was smiling reassuringly. Someone in the back whispered something in their language and the pink-haired woman rolled her eyes. Enjolras wanted to bury himself.

“Thank the gods, they’re coming,” said Bahorel with relief looking towards the crowd around the bonfire. Musichetta got on her tiptoes to give a better look and nodded.

“Honourable hosts, let me introduce you to Their Highnesses princess Lyrian and prince Grantaire,” she said.

The Court parted to reveal the man and the woman who were dancing around the fire earlier. Enjolras felt his stomach drop under his feet and his throat closing abruptly, he was surprised he was still able to breathe. The woman, princess Lyrian apparently, had taken another shawl and had it draped around her shoulders and was smiling welcoming. The prince seemed sulkier, he wasn’t smiling and in the calm atmosphere of the tent, he appeared even wilder than when he was dancing with his sister.

“Princess Lyrian, prince Grantaire, they are our awaited guests, Sir Enjolras and his company: Combeferre of Eos, Courfeyrac of Arena, Marius Pontmercy and his sworn sword, Eponine Thénardier,” Musichetta presented them in her official tone and the princess gave them a long and assertive look while the prince completely ignored them and seated gracelessly on one of the plush cushions.

“It’s an honor really, we are so excited to meet you. I had to drag my brother to dance to make him relax a little,” Princess Lyrian said with a warm smile after her examination. Prince Grantaire murmured something in their language and reached for a glass of wine.

“Could you please make the effort of speaking the Common Language around our honorable guests?” The princess asked her brother with an annoyed look.

“You mean the Common Language created by wealthy merchants of the Dry Lands to impose their own mother-tongue and expand their economic influence?” Asked the prince dripping sarcasm from every word without even raising his eyes from his glass of wine.

“I mean the language that our guests can actually understand,” replied his sister through gritted teeth.

“My apologies,” said the prince, this time looking towards Enjolras and his friends, though he sounded everything but sorry. For an instant, Enjolras was sure the princess was going to murder her own brother, but in the span of a second, the gentle smile was back on her lips and she took her brother’s hand in hers talking softly in their mother-tongue.

“I thought you said we ought to speak the Common Language,” the prince replied dismissing whatever his sister was trying to say.

Lightning flashed in the princess’ eyes. The prince seemed unpreoccupied. Musichetta was nearing tears while Joly and Bahorel were speechless. All around them the other members of the Courts were keeping a respectful silence.

Well, Enjolras hoped it was respectful.

“Honourable princess Lyrian you have to accept our apologies," said Courfeyrac in a clear attempt to distend the atmosphere. "We came without any gift for you and your soon-to-be-born child, in our defense I have to say we didn’t know about this good news.” He gestured to the princess’ clearly swollen belly drawing her attention back on them. She seemed to have recovered her smile and waved a hand in the air as to dismiss Courfeyrac’s concerns.

“You don’t have to worry. It isn’t our costume to celebrate before a baby is born so we don’t spread the news as much as we don’t expect gifts before the time. And now please sit with us and take some refreshments, your journey must have been tiring.”

They soon found themselves sat on the plush cushions near the royal siblings and surrounded by trails of food and drinks.

“So, Warden Enjolras, how was your journey? I hear that crossing the Flaming Hills is no joke.”

“Please, your highness, call me just Enjolras, Warden is still a title reserved to my father.”

“Yes, of course. Furthermore, you’re going to become family very soon.”

Enjolras blushed and nodded lowering his eyes, he could feel the stare of prince Grantaire on the side of his head piercing through him like a needle, but when he raised his gaze towards him the prince was intent talking to Bossuet and drinking from his chalice.

“The journey across the Flaming Hills went very well, thank you, your highness," went on Combeferre. "I personally find that the fame of the Hills has been greatly exaggerated by the songs and ballads, they’re mostly just very poor lands of which our Emperor ought to be more concerned.”

“Doesn’t the title of Warden of Goldenbank offers a place in the Emperor’s council?” Asked the pink-haired woman. The princess gave her a nasty look but a moment later she had already recovered her kind expression.

“Don’t listen to Magnon, she’s always talking about politics and diplomacy, but tonight is a night of rejoicing, there will be other times to talk about those things. Dear Enjolras, you have to taste our herbs liquor, it’s made by the priestesses of the Rhyme Lake in…”

“I don’t drink,” said Enjolras boldened by the reassurances of Musichetta and her companions earlier, but maybe he had done a miscalculation.

Half of the Court remained silent and the other half fell silent a second later to try to understand why the first half had stopped talking. Musichetta had her eyes closed while the one called Magnon had her mouth open, the princess had still her smile on but it somehow resulted out of place in the suddenly stiff atmosphere. It was the prince who broke the tension with a boisterous laugh, his head thrown back revealing the tendons in his neck and the muscles of his shoulder.

“This will certainly be a strange union,” he said when he finished laughing and the chatter of the Court had resumed mostly like before. He made a mock toast in the general direction of Enjolras before drinking the whole content of his chalice in one gulp.

“You don’t have to worry, Enjolras, we’re very proud of our liquors but we have plenty of non-alcoholic beverages to be as much proud of. Taste this one, it’s cherry flavored,” she said while gesturing for someone to pour a dark and dense liquid in a wooden cup for him. Enjolras felt relieved, it was a novelty for them maybe, but they didn’t seem offended. Even the prince, after his cryptic statement had seemed to move on, so maybe everything was still fine.

They resumed in some more polite chatter. It turned out that most of the prince’s Court, included the prince himself, had never visited the Dry Lands.

“There was never a reason," said Bahorel scrolling his shoulders. "Rarely the Rivers’ People leaves the rivers after all.”

“And especially not for lands that our ancestors used to call the Dead Lands,” added Bossuet gaining a nudge in the stomach from Joly.

“But they are not only deserts anymore! You must see Goldenbank’s gardens and orchards, they are marvelous, particularly in this season,” said Marius who had just recovered from a coughing fit caused by the herbs liquor.

“Surely they’ll still be as amazing by the time we’ll be back for the marriage. The palace’s gardens will be a perfect location for such an event,” commented Courfeyrac happily sipping a bright blue liquid from a crystal glass.

“Well, maybe just a little over the top,” murmured Eponine who hadn’t touched a drop of liquor the whole time.

“Ponine’s being her usual self, there’s nowhere more romantic,” said Marius with maybe too much passion seeing as they were talking about gardens, something on which Enjolras hadn’t much of an opinion on. Eponine rolled her eyes affectionately.

“I still don’t understand how is it possible that the royal prince had never even been to the Capital," said Combeferre confused. "I thought the youngest siblings of the Rivers’ Queens were usually involved in diplomatic works.”

“Well, this is not exactly correct," started the princess a lot more unsure than she had ever been all evening. "You see, at the moment, the head of the Diplomatic Council is still our aunt as it is the costume for the third born princess, as you already mentioned. My brother, in normal circumstances, would have started his apprenticeship with her later this year.”

“But the chance to sell me away was much more appealing,” commented the prince by then clearly intoxicated by the alcohol well beyond the limits of what it was considered acceptable in a social gathering.

Enjolras couldn’t help but feel repelled by such a behavior: not only the prince had no sense of social standards, of which Enjolras normally cared very little anyway, but he was completely disrespecting his guests, his own Court and his sister who seemed to have put a lot of effort in the success of the evening.

Moreover, the prince’s attachment at the bottle made Enjolras really uncomfortable and he was quite happy that no one expected them to be alone with the other for the time being. The princess had turned towards her brother, probably, to protest against his harsh words, but Jehan Prouviere preceded her.

“Musichetta was just telling me that everything is ready for the Hospitality Ritual, maybe we should escort our honorable guests inside?”

“Yes, yes of course. Grantaire, will you do the honors of the house?” She asked her brother with just a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“Of course, my lovely sister," he answered with a deep and trembling bow. "Follow me, great guests.”

The prince and his Court led them outside the royal tent, around the bonfire and behind the camp where the Zephyr run unperturbed by the clamors on his bank. Dozens and dozens of boats rested anchored in front of them half hidden in the darkness of the night. The prince led them to the only one illuminated and with another bow invited them to get on.

Enjolras had seen boats like that on the Goldthread. Since the first peace treaty, some merchant from the Rivers’ People had dared to start some exchange with his city and Enjolras had had the chance to observe their majestic boats anchored at the Old Harbour: they had a flat hull to be able to navigate even in low water and, even though they were pretty large in the middle, both the stern and the bow were narrow and sharp enough to break the waves. They had colorful sails and there was what seemed a little cottage in the middle of the deck. That boat was not different, if not perhaps a little bigger and the cottage was adorned with the colors of the Royal Family, tawny and indigo. But seeing a boat didn’t mean that Enjolras had ever been on one. He had rarely moved from Goldenbank, almost never, actually, besides from a trip to Eos when he was very little and another to the Capital a couple of years before, and both times he had moved by horse.

He had presumed that staying on a boat would have been pretty similar to stay on the ground, but he had been way wrong: the boat moved in rhythm with the waves and it made difficult walking straight while all the movement was making him regret all the food and drink of earlier.

“Are you all right Enjolras?” Bahorel asked him with a concerned look.

“Yes, thank you, I’ve just never been on a boat before,” he answered accepting with gratitude the arm Courfeyrac was offering him. Arena, the city where Courfeyrac had grown up, had the most important harbor of the Empire and as a member of the nobility of the city, Courfeyrac had been trained not only to stay on a boat but also to sail one.

The prince was looking at Enjolras with an incredulous look. He said something in his own language before passing a hand over his face. Musichetta glared at him.

“He will not,” she replied in the Common Language then turned her attention back to their guests.

“Don’t worry Enjolras, below deck the sway is less strong.”

“There’s a below deck?” Asked Marius who had never left the Capital before coming to Goldenbank and was looking around himself with amazement. The prince sighed while Joly and Bossuet snickered lowly behind them. Musichetta led them inside the small cottage which was furnished as an elegant, even if maybe slightly rustic, living room. Well, actually it could have been also a drawing room or a tea room, Enjolras could not tell. Maybe it was just the hall and the actual rooms were in the part below.

“Well, Enjolras, I’d say you can follow me while Joly can go with Combeferre and…” Musichetta started to instruct before being interrupted by the prince.

“Why is Enjolras going with you?” He asked bitterly. Musichetta rolled her eyes and answered in their mother-tongue with an annoyed tone.

“I thought we were speaking in the Common Language,” the prince commented flatly. Musichetta opened her mouth to reply but, evidently, she decided it was better not to repeat what she had just said in a language everyone could understand and closed it again.

“We just don’t think you’re in your best shape tonight, dear,” Joly explained kindly.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, R, it is clear to everyone that you may have exaggerated with the herbs liquor tonight,” Bahorel said trying to put his hands on the prince’s shoulders but the latter wriggled away with a fluid movement.

“But you all know perfectly that I can hold my liquors really well,” the prince said with a small trembling bow and then, to the complete surprise of everyone in the room, he grabbed Enjolras by the wrist and started leading him down the stairs. “Follow me, Warden of Goldenbank, I’m not going to bite you.”

Enjolras looked back at the expression of mild discomfort on the faces of his friends and the complete murderous one of Musichetta whom Bossuet was holding back by the shoulders while whispering something to her hear. Eponine took a step forward, unnoticed by the others, a hand on the hilt of the sword and a determined look on her face, Enjolras shook his head imperceptibility, but firm enough for the warrior woman to stop and relax, even if just slightly.

The last thing he saw before the room disappeared behind the stairs was the encouraging smile of Courfeyrac.

The prince kept leading him by the hand and they arrived at the end of the stairs, in a long and narrow hallway on which both sides opened various doors.

“This is my room,” informed him the prince pointing at the first door on the left. “In case you wanted to shake up a bit this whole official engagement thing one of these nights,” he added making all of Enjolras’ blood drain from his face. The prince spared him a glance and sighed at his petrified expression.

“Don’t worry, dear, I’m joking. I’m not going to force you doing anything you don’t want to, you know that right?” He asked with a strain of concern in his voice.

“Of course, I had no doubt about it,” Enjolras answered mechanically but could not help glancing at the hand that still was holding his wrist. The prince followed his eyes and seemed to realize just in that moment that his hand was still there and let it go immediately almost as if Enjolras’ skin had burnt him.

They stopped in front of the second-last door on the left.

“And this is your room,” he announced in a voice that Enjolras would have described as sheepish if it had made any sense at all.

The room inside was pretty similar at the living room above: it was elegant but simple, it had just the essential but had a cozy atmosphere that let Enjolras relax a little. The canopy around the bed was closed, hiding it from sight, but in the middle of the room, there was a large and plush armchair in front of which had been laid a silver basin, what seemed a very soft cloth and an entire aromatic herbs’ stand. Behind the chair, in a tall brazier, a small fire was lighting the room.

“It must be very different from what you’re used to at your palace,” the prince commented while busying himself around the small flame. Enjolras threw another look around the room and shrugged.

“It is indeed, but I like it. It seems a lot more wormer than my bedroom at the palace, for one, and it’s really interesting, I’ve never seen a bedroom on a boat before.”

“I thought there was a river that passed through Goldenbank,” pointed out the prince while putting a metal jug over the flames and checking it didn’t risk to fall over.

“Oh, yes, yes there is, the Goldthread. It’s a very important trade way, but I have no reason to navigate it nor to get on a boat. Courfeyrac, though, he’s really good. I think he learned to sail before he learned to walk.”

The prince snorted at that but Enjolras could swear he saw the hint of a smile on his sulking face.

“Can you swim at least? If you’re going to live in the fleet for a month you have to know how to swim.”

“Yes, I’ve been thought to. There is an artificial lake in the palace’s gardens, that’s where both Combeferre and I learned how to swim.”

“Not in the river?” Asked the prince confused.

“Oh, no, no. The river in the Old City is too wasted to swim in it and I’ve barely even been in the New City, especially when I was younger. The lake is very realistic though, my father re-enacted a lot of old naval battles in there, I’m sure we could build a boat for you there if you’d like.”

“How thoughtful,” the prince commented flatly.

They remained in silence after that and Enjolras, not knowing what else to do, resolved to observe the movements of the prince around the small room: he seemed to be following some kind of ritual involving the silver basin because he had already put in there a scolding stone taken from the brazier, numerous aromatic herbs, scented oil and some kind of white powder Enjolras had never seen before. Although some stumbling revealed his intoxicated state, the prince moved with grace and his fluid movements reminded Enjolras of something.

“I saw you dancing. Earlier at the bonfire. With your sister. You were incredible.”

Compliments were good. Courfeyrac had told him that compliments were the basis of courting and that was what he was there to do, court the prince. Nevermind he had never courted anyone in his whole life.

“Yeah, I saw you in the crowd,” the prince said raising briefly his eyes towards him before hastily lowering them again on the basin.

“How could you recognize me?” Enjolras inquired remembering the burning embarrassment of when he had confused Jehan Prouvaire for the prince.

“It wasn’t difficult to notice the most out of place group of people in the circle and I may have not seen you before, but I heard stories about your beauty, I knew who you were the moment my eyes fell on you.”

“My… my beauty?” He echoed confused.

“There is no reason to play coy with me,” the prince replied vaguely annoyed.

“No, I… no one ever, uhm, I’ve never…” Enjolras stammered without knowing how to react and decided that the best line of action at that point was silence and snapped his mouth shut.

The prince finally raised his eyes to meet Enjolras’, an incredulous expression on his face.

“Have you really no idea of the stories that circle around about you?”

Enjolras shook his head. The prince kept his eyes fixed on him like he was trying to solve a riddle written on his face. Once again, he remained struck by the prince’s eyes, they were stunning, kind and wild at the same time. He suddenly realized that, for how long they were going to be married, he would have never stopped being amazed by those emerald eyes.

“The first time I heard of you, it was from a merchant who had just come back from the Dry Lands. He said you looked like the reincarnation of Phoebus and, I have to say, he wasn’t wrong,” the prince told him busying himself again with the strange ritual of which Enjolras had still to understand the goal.

“Who’s Phoebus?” He asked curiously.

“He’s the god that guards the sun in our pantheon, in all the stories he’s always very handsome and bright, it’s easy to see why you could remind of him.”

Well, the prince was a lot better at courting than he was, that was for sure, Enjolras thought while trying really hard not to blush at those words.

“No one ever told me that to my face,” he commented stammering slightly. “And I never thought I could be, uhm, handsome, as you said.”

The prince laughed amused by that statment.

“Don’t you have mirrors in that palace of yours?”

“Well, yes, of course, it’s just that my skin is darker than most of mine compatriots’ and in the Dry Lands usually dark skin is not considered a sign of beauty.”

“And do you agree with that?” Enjolras shrugged.

“I found the concept of beauty shallow and too much relative. I’m not interested in reflecting on what people find beautiful or not.”

“And have you ever found yourself reflecting on what do you find beautiful?”

Enjolras thought about it for a moment.

“I think your eyes are,” he announced finally. The prince opened his mouth shocked and then closed it immediately returning to his task with maybe a little too much ardor.

“And tell me, is there a reason why your skin is darker than your compatriots?” He asked clearly changing the subject. Enjolras wasn’t sure why but he felt a little smug about it.

“My mother came from the Soaked Lands, I took mostly from her.”

“Do you miss her?”

“All the time,” he answered, surprised at his own sincerity, then added at the confused look on the prince’s face. “She died when I was very little. The same year the peace treaty was signed.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“Don’t be. It happened a long time ago.”

“At least we have something in common,” the prince noted but he sounded far from happy about it. “From what city was she from?”

“She was from one of the noble families of Sabia, why?”

“My aunt Asha is married to the Queen of Sabia, they probably knew each other.”

“Oh.”

“As part of the official engagement tour we will have to visit them too, I hope it won’t be a problem for you. I can always ask if we can skip Sabia if you prefer.”

“No, no, it’s all right, really. I’ve never been really close with her part of the family, it could be a good occasion to visit them.”

The prince nodded lost in his thoughts and silence fell once again on the couple.

“Well, I’m done here. You can take your shoes and socks off and sit on the armchair,” the prince announced after some minutes of complete silence.

Enjolras startled and fixed his eyes on his feet that had been planted in the same identical spot since they entered the room.

“What?” He asked, his voice at least one octave higher than usual, sure he must have understood wrong.

“This is the Hospitality Ritual, I have to wash your feet, it’ll be quick I promised,” he said dismissive kneeling in front of the basin.

“But no one has ever seen me that much naked before,” Enjolras whispered shutting his eyes closed and waiting for the prince’s laugh. After some moment of complete silence, though, it became clear that the prince wasn’t going to laugh. Enjolras dared to open his eyes again and was met with the prince’s incredulous stare.

“Are you telling me no one ever seen your feet?” Enjolras nodded. “Even at the swimming lessons?”

“We had special shoes for that.”

The prince breathed deeply passing a hand over his face.

“All right, I guess, it isn’t so strange then. Listen, we don’t have to do this, no one will ever know. We wait here a little then go out and lie, it’s not as if people will check that we actually did it,” the prince suggested.

“No, it’s all right, I want to do it. I was just, uhm, surprised.”

Prince Grantaire looked at him uncertain.

“All right, but if at any moment you feel too weirded out you tell me and we stop, promise me.”

“Of course.”

He sat on the armchair and started undoing the laces on his boots feeling the stare of the prince on him, he had by then stopped caring about trying not to blush under those emerald eyes.

“So, tell me, how does this ritual work?” He inquired to distract himself.

“It’s actually a quite nice ritual, we use it to thank the guests who have traveled to visit us and to ask protection for them to our gods.”

“You didn’t seem so fond of it before,” pointed out Enjolras. The prince waved a hand in the air.

“It becomes a habit when you grow up trying to rail up your very religious older brother, but I like our religion, it’s full of myths and legends, it’s all very nice.”

“Is there a myth about this?” Enjolras asked curious pointing at the silver basin full with warm water and dry flowers.

“There’s a myth for everything. Would you… would you like to hear it?” Enjolras nodded. “Put your feet in the water then and I’ll tell you.”

Enjolras smiled amused and did how he was told. The water was warm and nice and whatever prince Grantaire had put inside had created a limy but pleasing substance that floated around his feet, he felt already much more relaxed.

“A long, long time ago,” the prince had started telling while dipping his hands in the water. “Soon after the gods created the humans, Mother Earth, the All-Queen, decided they needed a place where they could venerate her, pray to her and ask for favors and benedictions and so she created her first temple on the top of the Bone Hill in the Mellow Lands.”

The prince, in the meantime, had opened the cloth revealing a piece of soap and had started very slowly and very gently to wash Enjolras’ feet. At the first touch of his callused hands on the sensitive skin, Enjolras had jerked away involuntarily, but at the inquisitive look of the prince he had answered with an affirmative nod and soon he was starting to hope it’d never stop.

“Pilgrims from all over the Four Lands started the travel to the temple to ask the All-Queen favors and blessings. The first to arrive was a woman who had traveled from the Rhyme Lake in the Soaked Lands, she was there to ask a blessing for her new-born son. She looked behind her before entering the temple and noticed the other pilgrims arriving, tired and dusty from the road. Instead of entering, the woman stopped just outside the temple, lit a fire, offered food and water to the other pilgrims and helped them wash before entering the temple to venerate the goddess.”

The prince’s touches were so soft, almost reverent, and Enjolras had to fight with all his might not to sigh contentedly or, worse even, moan delightedly. The story was not helping at all, prince Grantaire's voice, when it wasn’t sarcastic or caustic, was deep and velvety and it seemed created to tell stories from a long-forgotten past.

“The All-Queen, moved by such generosity and selflessness, made her ascend as a goddess in our pantheon and built a temple on the exact place where the woman had stopped and demanded that near every one of her temples another one was erected honoring Xenia, the goddess of Hospitality. Since then our people live following the rules of Xenia and there will always be a fire, food, drinks, a basin of warm water and a bed for every person that knocks on our doors.”

“It’s a really beautiful story, thank you,” Enjolras said once the prince fell silent.

“We have some very good poet here on the fleet,” the prince replied sheepishly.

“You’re very good too, you have a nice voice.”

“First my eyes and now my voice, you’ll have to be careful with your compliments, oh divine Phoebus, or I’ll start to think that you’re trying to seduce me,” the prince warned him with his bright eyes full of mirth and Enjolras couldn’t help but return the smile while a strange tingling filled his stomach.

“I’m happy my plan is working, just don’t get too used to it, I’ve been told, by very reliable sources, that I’m terrible at courting,” Enjolras informed him still smiling happily with maybe just a hint of smugness.

The prince laughed amused by those words and started drying Enjolras feet with the soft cloth, he was biting his bottom lip as if to try to contain his laughter and Enjolras wished he would stop because he had a really amazing laugh and he could not wait to tell him he liked that too.

“You don’t need to court me, we’re already engaged, are we not?”

“Well, yes, yes of course, and I admire your selflessness and dedication to the cause, but I thought it could be more enjoyable if…”

“No. No, wait. Don’t confuse this with selflessness and especially to dedication to a cause that it’s not here,” the prince protested standing up abruptly, all mirth and fun gone from his face.

“What are you talking about? Have you not consented to marry me to stop the spilling of blood of our people? For the hope to see this war between the Burnt Lands’ clans and the Empire end once and for all?”

The prince laughed again, but this time the sound wounded Enjolras ears for how much coarse and bitter it was.

“End the war? If you really believe so you must be more naïve than what you look like. This war has been going on since before we were born, do you actually think that force ourselves to tolerate each other for a handful of years will change anything? It won’t. My people and your people will keep dying and kill each other whatever your beliefs are.”

“You’re wrong,” Enjolras objected vehemently standing up as well staring at the prince with burning passion. “My father and your mother already brought peace between our people for fifteen years and I’m certain that with our example we’ll be able to extend the peace outside our borders.”

“And even if that happened are you really so foolish to believe it’ll mean everlasting peace in the Four Lands?” He snorted. “Please, do you know what your precious Empire was doing before fighting against the Burnt Lands’ clans? It was fighting against the Whirlwind Lands’ People. And go ask your friend Eponine how peaceful her childhood was when her people was under siege by the Two Roses’ army. War is part of human nature, oh divine Phoebus, stop the war you have now and another one will start the next moment.”

“If this is what you believe in, why did you accept to marry me?” Enjolras asked barely holding back his disdain at the prince’s speech.

“Firstly, I believe in nothing, it’s very important for me that you know this. Secondly, I didn’t accept anything, the Wide Council decided this fate for me and I took it because the other option was abdicating and exiling myself and I’d rather die than spend the rest of my life in the Free Cities like my sister Maya.”

“Well, I’m surprised that with such good arguments you didn’t try to convince the Council of the foolishness and uselessness of their decision," spat Enjolras dripping sarcasm from every word.

“And then what, tell me? I would have gained a couple of years more, enough to let them start that charade of head of the Diplomatic Council then they would indicate to my sister some Mellow Lands’ princess or Free Cities’ politician or mountains’ chief to whom send me more than usual and I would find myself in this exact same situation, trying to convince my people that I’m sacrificing myself to grant them a brighter future that it’s just not there, plus the fact that I would be remembered as the prince who lost the chance of fucking one of the most beautiful men in the Four Lands just to prove a point.”

Enjolras was fuming. When he spoke again his words were soaked in venom and his voice was as cold as ice.

“No, you wouldn’t be able to make anyone even hope in a brighter future because the only way in which you can give someone hope is to be hopeful yourself and not only you’re clearly devoid of even the smallest beacon of hope, it is also clear that you’re completely unable to believe in it.”

“I told you, I believe in nothing,” replied the prince flatly.

They stayed there, glaring at each other, still and silent. Enjolras was breathing heavily, a million words floating in his mind to rebuke at him but he was unable to choose one with which to start.

“The ritual is finished, put your boots back on, they’re waiting for us out there,” the prince said finally, breaking the silence but not the tension between the two of them. Enjolras did as he was told but refused to talk to him or even look at him until they were out in the hallway again.

Their friends were waiting for them in the living room above-deck, they all seemed relaxed and happy, but their expression changed immediately when they saw the two of them appearing from the stairs. No one spoke a word, but Enjolras could see the others exchanging concerned looks while walking back to the camp.

Courfeyrac, actually, tried to approach him and ask in a whisper what had happened but Enjolras shook his head with determination and Combeferre put a hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder to convince him to drop the subject.

The rest of the evening passed as if in a dream. Enjolras was barely aware of the fact that princess Lyrian announced officially his and prince Grantaire’s engagement and it was just for miracle that he was able to maintain a polite smile during all the never-ending string of congratulations and blessings from every single person present in the camp. He couldn’t listen to what they were saying to him and he let his friends distract and chat them up, he was too focused on not glaring angrily at the prince while recreating in his mind hundreds of scenarios where he replied to his infuriating words and was able to change his mind.

He only paid attention when he heard two old women pronounce the name Phoebus while whispering between themselves and pointing at him, it helped to make him even more nervous.

On his part, prince Grantaire seemed equally uninterested in listening to what everyone else had to say, preferring to spend his time trying to lose consciousness the fastest possible with the help of all the alcohol he could put his hands on.

When the party finally ended and Enjolras could hide back in the room he had been assigned, he wanted to cry. He felt like if he had failed, even if in doing what he could not tell exactly. He was frustrated and angry, but there was also a sense of guilt and shame that kept him from talking about it with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He resolved to glare at the wooden wall while trying to calm himself, enough at least to be able to fall asleep.

A picture, which he had not noticed before, too intent following the prince’s movements around the room, caught his attention: it was a painting depicting the source of the Goldthread, in the Dragon’s Backbone, at dawn. It was incredibly realistic and, even if Enjolras didn’t understand a lot about art, he thought it was quite beautiful. In the bottom corner on the right, a written said: don’t forget where you came from and you’ll always find a place to rise again.

It was simply signed R.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting earlier than what I said because I'm not sure I'll be able to post this next week so, seeing that I already had this ready, I decided to publish today. As I promised the second chapter is way longer than the first one. Hope you liked it! If you did let me know with kudos and comments or come say hi to [lenezdansleruisseau](https://lenezdansleruisseau.tumblr.com/)


	3. In which politics call for more romanticism

Musichetta woke up at the sounds of children running past her door screaming. She couldn’t believe they had decided for it to be a school day even after the party of the day before.   
She sighed and hid her head under her pillow. She could not remember the last time she woke up after a party without the light headache that came with the drinking of a fun and relaxing night. That morning, though, Musichetta had no headache: the night before had been neither funny nor relaxing, but nevertheless, she would have paid her weight in gold for the possibility to spend the rest of the day in bed. 

Who cared about responsibilities? 

She was reflecting upon the possibility of actually staying in bed for the rest of her days when she heard someone knocking at her door.

“Chetta, Lyri has asked to see us. Wake up,” said the booming voice of Bahorel. She grunted.

“Tell her that I left, I’m not on this boat anymore. I resigned,” she answered in an almost desperate tone while forcing herself to get out from the inviting bed. 

Bahorel laughed and opened her door and set to wait for her leaning carelessly against the frame. 

“Aren’t you being a little too much dramatic?” He asked her smirking slightly, if he was amused by Musichetta’s words or the fact that she wasn’t being able to find her sandals, she could not tell. 

“Have you seen their expressions yesterday? I was starting to believe Enjolras was set to murder R during the night. About that, have you seen R?” 

Bahorel laughed and shook his head.

“Not yet. You know how he is after a night of drinking, I thought it would be better to go see Lyri and then trying to wake him up.” 

Musichetta sighed but nodded. 

“You’re probably right and hey, if Enjolras killed him, at least we won’t be required to take the impossible task of trying to wake him up for a reasonable hour.” 

Bahorel laughed again and kept the door open to let Musichetta exit before following her outside. 

The boats were still anchored, but there was already movement all around. Musichetta could hear the sound of the fleet awakening: parents chatting while they brought their children to school, children laughing while running around and chasing each other, priests singing the morning prayers in their temples, merchants and artisans arguing over the prices of their goods; the air smelled of fruits and spices and fire with the pungent smell of tinctures coming from the dyers’ boats. 

Like every morning, she was reminded of how much she loved her people. 

As she let her eyes wander over the fleet, something caught her eyes: there was a piece of black cloth hanging outside the rails of one of the florists’ boats. Musichetta felt a pang of pain in her stomach and turned towards Bahorel with a worried look on her face. 

“What happened?” She asked pointing to the florist’s boat with her head. Bahorel followed the gesture and his eyes immediately turned sad once he realized what she was asking about. 

“A messenger arrived earlier this morning with news from the war in the Burnt Lands. Three deaths amongst our people, it’s not a surprise Lyri wants to talk to us.” 

“May the Goddess take care of their souls, did you have news of your sisters?”

“A letter arrived from them this morning, they’re fine, they were on a different mission during the last battle.”

Musichetta sighed relieved.

“Thank Laran then and ask him to protect your sisters in the next battle too.” She sighed again, this time worriedly. “This won’t put R in a better mood.” She noted while starting walking again in the direction of the Queen Regent’s boat. 

“This won’t put anyone in a better mood. I heard rumors about some protests on the Queen’s fleet against the Peace Treaty,” Bahorel revealed in a whisper leaning towards her to avoid being heard by a flock of young giggling girls running past them.

Musichetta shook her head in disbelief. 

“I can’t understand how people could think that more wars could bring back the children they lost in this one.” 

“People are desperate, Chetta. Most of them just want justice for their children, they think that concede a Treaty to Goldenbank would be an insult to their memory, especially considering that we’re giving up on one of our princes.” 

“Don’t talk about the marriage like that, you make it sounds as if we’re selling Grantaire in exchange of a couple of sheep,” she said and tested the small wooden bridge used to pass from a boat to another. It seemed solid enough. 

“I’m just repeating what I’ve heard. People aren’t happy and this Enjolras guy is not helping the situation,” Bahorel replied following her on the small bridge. 

“What is wrong with Enjolras?” She asked surprised. If anything, Enjolras had seemed quite a nice surprise: kind, polite and mostly educated, very different from the stereotype the Rivers’ People had of the Empire’s inhabitants. Bahorel chuckled lightly before answering.

“I always forget that you weren’t born here,” he said shaking his head. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” She inquired trying to hide how much that sentence hurt. Bahorel hadn’t said it with malice, she knew that, but it put salt on still open wounds. 

“It means that you’re more open-minded than some people who were born and raised on the fleet, for some people Enjolras is the first person from the Empire they’ve ever seen, you may think he’s one of the best they have to offer, but for the rest of the fleet he seemed just as cold and uptight as they expected him to be and I’m not even talking about all the slanders that exist about his people.” 

“Yes, better not talk about those. It’s only the first day, Bahorel, we need to be patient,” Musichetta noted before stopping in front of the entrance to Lyri’s rooms. 

“I hope you’re right,” Bahorel mumbled while she knocked on the door. 

Nicolette was the one opening the door. She gave them a judging look, but let them inside and announced them at the Queen Regent’s Court. 

Being one of the first components of Prince Grantaire’s Court, Musichetta knew Lyri’s pretty well: all-female and quite restricted, both uncommon choices for a future queen’s Court, another thing that Musichetta knew pretty well: she descended from a long line of various Courts’ members. A third thing she knew was that neither Nicolette nor Magnon had the highest opinion of Prince Grantaire’s Court. 

Nicolette led them to two cushions in front of Lyri’s seat and offered them two cups of tea before returning to her place beside the Queen Regent.

“Musichetta, Bahorel, I’m so glad you could come here this morning.” Lyri greeted them with a warm smile. Musichetta also knew a thing or two about Lyri’s smiles, the warmest ones were always the ones hiding something, she felt immediately nervous: she had no doubt that they had been summoned because of the news about the war that arrived that morning. 

“Of course, Your Highness,” Bahorel answered not without a point of sarcasm that went not amiss by Nicolette and Magnon, but, after all, it wasn’t as if they could have decided not to come. 

“I’d love to have time to chat more freely with the two of you, but I’m afraid I’ll need to go directly to the official subjects,” Lyri said with feigned regret. “So, tell me about my brother’s progress with Sir Enjolras.” 

Musichetta and Bahorel exchanged a worried look over their cups. 

“Well…” started Musichetta unsure. “Everything was going fine before the Hospitality Ritual then, from what I’ve understood, they had an argument and things went a little less fine.”

“Did you let the prince go alone in a room with the boy?” Magnon asked in disbelief. “No wonder they had an argument, he was in no conditions to be left alone with anyone.” 

Lyri gave her a nasty look, but promptly retrieved her smile when she turned towards Bahorel and Musichetta once again. 

“Do you happen to know what the argument was about?” She asked calmly while pouring more tea in her cup.

“No, Your Highness. Grantaire refused to talk about it yesterday and I still have to talk with him today.” 

Lyri made a pensive face and cleared her throat.

“All right, then. Once you’ll be out of here, you’ll wake up my brother and make him presentable, I’ll join the breakfast that was scheduled for him and Enjolras with their respective Courts, I’d like to avoid other arguments and, of course, I expect to be informed about the one of last night.” 

“Your Highness, you’re asking me to break the loyalty I owe to your brother as a member of his Court, I can’t do something like that.” 

“I’d never say that. Tell R he can talk directly to me or use you as a messenger, I don’t care, but it’s an order and I expect to be informed, this is not just his private life anymore, this a political matter now.” 

“Lyri, don’t you think you’re going a bit too far now?” Musichetta asked ignoring the fuming looks of Nicolette and Magnon. 

She knew she had made a risky bet using the princess’ nickname: either Lyrian was going to become even madder or she was going to understand she had overstepped a line and calm down. Using the royal family members’ first names was a privilege that came from the fact that she had grown up with them, being the only daughter of one of princess Virginie’s Court members.   
She had never abused of it and that meant that when she used it, it was usually effective, but it was a method that had backfired a couple of times before as the worried look on Bahorel’s face could testimony. 

Lyri’s smile became cold for a second and then it disappeared completely, living just the expression of a very tired young woman.

“I wish I was just going a little too far, my dear,” she said shaking her head softly. “I don’t know how our mother could think this was a good idea.”

“If I may, Your Highness, I think we’re all getting ahead of ourselves here. After all, Grantaire and Sir Enjolras just met, we should leave them some time to know each other better,” Bahorel suggested clearly struggling to maintain a formal tone. Musichetta knew how much he hated such situations and that he was making that effort only for the affection he felt for their prince. 

“The problem, Bahorel, is that we don’t have time. We have a month to convince everyone that this is a marriage born from love and not from politics and if my brother keeps being so hostile towards our dear guest, it’s going to become an impossible task.” 

“Your Highness,” Musichetta started returning to her formal voice, “I consider our people smart enough to understand that this was never going to be a marriage for love and I’m sure they’ll understand the reason behind it too.” 

The princess sighed and passed a hand over her eyes, Nicolette pressed a hand reassuringly over her shoulder.

“Of course, people know what it’s actually happening,” commented Magnon annoyed. “But our people hadn’t seen an arranged marriage for generations before this whole Peace Treaty situation there was a bill on the Outer Council’s floor proposing to outlaw them. Our People see this as us refuting our own values and bend ourselves in front of Goldenbank.” 

“But we’re talking about savings life!” Protested Bahorel vehemently. 

“We know and they know,” assured Lyrian calmly. “They’re just asking for an excuse to believe we’re not losing ourselves while stopping this war: be able to believe that their prince is going to marry if not for love at least for infatuation, could be a good start.” 

“R won’t like this,” commented Bahorel.

“Listen, if I was just his sister you know there would be nothing I wouldn’t do to make him happy, nothing, but I’m also the Queen Regent and as such I have to ask him to take the responsibility for his actions or do I need you to remember he was the one who proposes himself for this? I’m just asking him to act accordingly and behave like he was struck by a burst of light or something like that and fell head over heels for our dear Enjolras.” 

“If Gaea was here…” started Nicolette wistfully only to be interrupted by a commanding gesture of Lyri.

“She isn’t here, though. No use to discuss her. Now, Musichetta, Bahorel, you two go prepare my brother for breakfast and let someone know I’ll join you there without my Court.” 

The two of them nodded respectfully and slowly backed down until they got out of the room. Once outside, they took a moment to sigh deeply.

“Well, that wasn’t fun at all,” Bahorel commented.

“You think? For the gods’ sake, since when everything became so complicated?” 

Bahorel shrugged.

“We’ve grown up, I guess. Bummer. At least I know how to organize a magnificent breakfast. You can try to wake up His Royal Majesty and the rest of the Court. With what they drank yesterday it’ll be a miracle if they’ll even be able to open their eyes.” 

Musichetta grunted and passed a hand over her face tiredly. 

“R will stay grumpy all morning. There is no way he’ll be all charming and lovely-dovely with Enjolras.” 

“R is never charming or lovely-dovely, we’ll come up with something, don’t worry. Now it’s better if get to work.” 

Musichetta agreed and, after one last goodbye, they went in their different directions. 

“Chetta, hi! How are you?” Cosette’s trilling voice greeted her while she was crossing the bridge between the Princess’ boat and the Prince’s. She was wearing the teachers’ uniform and she was carrying a pile of slate tablet in her arms. 

“Good morning Cosette, isn’t it a little late to start your lesson?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? We gave the children a couple hours more this morning, you know with the news that came from the front… we thought it was only right to give them some time to process that and to mourn in peace.” 

“That was a good decision. I heard of the news from Bahorel just before being received by the Princess, she was not in a good mood.”

“I can only imagine. My papa told me that the Two Roses are opposing Grantaire’s marriage pretty vocally, they even threatened to not allow the nobles of the Mellow Lands to participate at the ceremony.” 

“Are you serious?” 

Cosette nodded solemnly.

“Papa wrote me immediately after he got out of the Outer Council’s meeting. You know, I’m a strenuous opponent of arranged marriages and I was especially opposed to this one since I only want R’s happiness, but I have to say that I’m starting to hope this one will work out. It seems the only way we’ll be able to stop this useless war.” 

“We’ll do our best, Cosette, believe me.”

“I know, but love is not something you can control, is it? Now I have to go or I’ll really be late. Have a good day, Chetta.” 

“You too.”

After that conversation, Musichetta thought her day couldn’t get worse. 

She felt the weight of the world on her shoulders: the war, the protests, the Two Roses’ opposition, it felt too much and if it felt like that for her, she could only imagine how Grantaire was going to feel.   
Poor R. He had such a caring heart under all those layers of sarcasm and skepticism towards almost every aspect of life. Most of all, he loved his people so, so much and for how much he claimed he had accepted the arranged marriage for Gaea’s sake, she knew it was also to give his people at least a sense of hope. 

He was going to be crushed knowing what was happening. Musichetta would have gladly hide that to him, but news on the fleet traveled fast and spread like wildfire on dry wood, there was no way she would have been able to keep something like a revolt and a diplomatic incident from him, not to talk about the new death count of the war. 

She sighed while descending the steps to her and the others’ rooms. It was going to be a long day she thought mournfully. 

Musichetta passed in front of her room and stopped for a second staring at the end of the hallway where their guests' rooms were. As far as she knew, they were still inside, sleeping or preparing for breakfast she could not know, but no one had come to inform her that they went out, so she felt pretty confident they were still there. She shook her head, that was a problem for later, she reminded herself.   
She hesitated for a moment in front of Grantaire's door, but, again, she shook her head and went to Bossuet's room, entering without knocking. 

The room inside was silent and dark. No sound came from the large bed and the covers seemed untouched. Musichetta sighed for what felt like the one-hundredth time that morning and crossed the room to the door on the left that brought to Joly's room. 

There Musichetta tried to ignore the pang of jealousy she felt seeing the two young men sleeping together in an affectionate embrace, jealousy toward who she couldn't say, and cleared her throat pointedly.  
The first to wake was Joly who rubbed his sleepy eyes with the heel of his hand and yawned before greeting her with a weak good morning. Musichetta thought that he was almost painfully cute, but repressed that thought immediately, she hadn’t gone there to swoon at Joly scrunching his nose. 

“You should have already been up and working, we have guests, if you don’t remember,” she said annoyed, but it was more because she had found them together than for the fact that they were still sleeping, not something she was ever going to admit anyway. 

“There will be guests the whole month, Chetta. You can’t ask us to wake up early for the whole month.” Whined Joly, but he shoved Bossuet lightly on the shoulder to wake him up too so Musichetta counted that as a victory. 

“We’ll see how things go, today we need an early rise, believe me. What is Bossuet doing in here anyway?” She asked unable to stop herself. It wasn’t the first time she founded the two young men in the same bed and she knew it was a stupid question to ask, even a little out of place since both of them didn’t have to explain her anything about their relationship, but she always asked. She hated to admit it, but their absurd explanations usually soothed her inexplicable jealousy. 

“Boss couldn’t find his room’s keys after the party,” Joly explained with another yawn while searching blindly for his leg’s tutor under the bed. 

“The door was open,” she deadpanned. 

“Yeah, because I couldn’t find the keys to close it before the party,” Bossuet said as if it was the most logical thing in the world and Musichetta gave up on that conversation. 

“You know what? I don’t care. I need to brief you on what happened this morning.” 

“Chetta, it’s merely nine in the morning, what could have possibly had happened yet?” Joly asked unimpressed. 

“Another deaths' report arrived,” she answered dryly and observed Joly face lose his usually bright smile and Bossuet’s head appearing from under the pillow with a somber expression. 

“Are Bahorel’s sisters…”

“They’re fine. I’ve talked with him earlier,” Musichetta said cutting Joly before he could finish the question. 

Neither of them asked about Gaea, there was no use to ask, if something had happened to her, the whole fleet would have known. 

“Lyri must be in a terrible mood,” Bossuet commented finally getting out of bed and searching around for his clothes. Musichetta tried very hard to ignore the fact that they were all scattered on the floor. 

“Add that there are rumors of protests on the Queen’s ships and that the Two Roses are threatening not to allow the Mellow Lands’ nobles to R’s wedding. She was on the verge of a nervous breakdown this morning when she summoned me and Bahorel to her rooms.” 

“She summoned you? That is not like her at all,” said Joly thoughtfully. 

Musichetta nodded.

“What did she want?” Bossuet asked, by then fully clothed. 

“She said that she wants this whole thing to pass as a marriage of love instead of an arranged one.” 

“Did she lose her mind? Everybody knows it’s an arranged marriage!” Joly exclaimed shocked at the mere insinuation. 

“I mean, R wasn’t even the one who was supposed to marry Enjolras,” Bossuet added shrugging. 

“Now that you make me think about it, this is something we could use to our favor,” Musichetta noted in a thoughtful voice.

“Have you gone mad too?” Joly asked worriedly. 

“Listen, everyone knows three things about R, right? That he hates royal duties, that he has a quite long line of pleasant-looking lovers,” 

“Pleasant-looking, really?” Bossuet interrupted, but Musichetta ignored him.

“And that he can be really impulsive,” Musichetta concluded ignoring him. 

“One out of three is actually true, though,” noted Joly.

“Well, yes, we know this, but the rest of our people don’t. It wouldn’t seem so strange if we spread the rumor that Grantaire heard some stories about Enjolras beauty and decided he wanted to marry him.”

“Conveniently when we needed someone to do that,” said Joly sarcastically. 

“I’m not saying we’re going to convince everybody, but we can try to be convincing enough to stop the protests and the Two Roses’ ban, they can’t oppose a marriage born out of love, they’ve been allies to our royal family for centuries.” 

“This is a wonderful plan, Chetta, but I think you’re forgetting a little detail,” Bossuet commented nodding in R’s room direction. 

“He won’t be very collaborative, I fear,” Joly clarified with a small sigh. 

“He’s the one who offered himself to play this part, the least he can do he’s being collaborative,” Musichetta replied with a hard expression. 

“You always become so scary when you wake up early,” Bossuet commented while Musichetta marched with purpose to the door that led to R’s room. 

“Next time I’ll tell Bahorel to go wake the two of you, maybe I’ll be less scary,” she countered and opened the door. 

Inside was pitch dark, Musichetta had to stop for a couple of seconds to get used to it. There was also a stale smell of alcohol and sweat and the young woman curled her nose disapproving. She moved rapidly towards the small round window hidden behind heavy curtains and opened them with a purposeful push. The rays of the, by then, late morning’s sun entered in the small room revealing items of clothes spread all over the room, a chair toppled on the floor and a formless mass of covers on the bed in the middle of the room. 

“Oh, stop it. You’ll have no pity from me this morning.” Musichetta told the formless mass of covers when it started whining and then, for good measure, gave a nasty look to Joly and Bossuet who have started giggling while climbing on the bed. 

"You're no fun, Musichetta," Bossuet commented while poking at the formless mass that was hiding prince Grantaire.

"You really shouldn't have said that my dear, you're on your own now," Joly whispered to Bossuet and the sentiment was seconded by a grunt coming from under the covers. 

"Am I no fun, Bossuet? Well, I'm sorry if Her Royal Majesty the Queen Regent called for me at an unholy hour in the morning to remember me that her brother is doing a terrible job at the task he offered himself to do because for some reason this seems to be my and Bahorel's fault."

"Listen, if my sister is going crazy it's not my fault either, don't take it out on me," said Grantaire peeking out of the covers with his eyes half closed. 

"Your sister is going crazy because she's organizing one of the most ambitious diplomatic operations of the last century and you're doing all that is in your power to make things more difficult. Can you explain what in the Goddess' name was the stunt you pulled at the party yesterday?"

Grantaire grunted and hid his head under the covers once again. 

Musichetta picked up the chair laying on the floor and slumped over it with her hands over her face. 

"Can please someone get him to talk and get out of that bed? Or I'm going to throttle him with my own hands."

“Give us a minute, Chetta,” Bossuet said in a serious tone, he and Joly exchanged a knowing look and not even a second later they were tickling Grantaire showing no mercy at all. The prince was kicking and   
screaming while holding his sides aching for too much laughter.

“Chetta, make them stop!” Grantaire pleaded out of breath in a break between laughing fits.

Musichetta shook her head and hid a smile behind her hand, then sighed and stood up.

“I think this is enough boys, thank you,” she said climbing on the bed and sitting cross-legged in front of the other three. “I’m sorry if I came off as a little harsh before,” she added when the boys had settled with their backs against the head of the bed. 

“It’s all right, Chetta. It was my stupid drinking that put you in trouble,” said Grantaire in a self-deprecating tone. 

“I’m not in trouble, R, nothing’s like that, just… your sister summoning me and Bahorel first thing in the morning isn’t exactly in my list of things that put a smile on my face, that’s all.”

“Where’s Bahorel by the way?” Joly asked. 

“Yes, why isn’t he here yelling at me too?” Pressed Grantaire.

“I wasn’t yelling at you,” Musichetta scoffed. “Anyway, he’s preparing breakfast for us and our guests, thanks to the gods, because I wouldn’t have the presence of mind to think about that too this morning.”

“Oh, Chetta! He’s going to make something over-complicated as always,” R complained while rolling his face back on the mattress. 

Musichetta threw him a pillow. 

“You’re in no position of complaining. Next time wake up at a decent time and prepare your own breakfast. Besides, I think that Bahorel needed the distraction, a new report from the battlefield arrived this morning.” 

“Are his sisters…” Grantaire started but was unable to finish the question. Musichetta could understand the feeling. 

“They’re safe and sound, thanking the Goddess, but you, more than anyone inside this room, should know that being reminded that we’ll never be able to know for sure if our loved ones are still alive it’s not easy.” 

R nodded, his eyes lost in the distance for a second before coming back to his hands twisting over the covers. 

“Is this what was all about yesterday? The reason why you and sir Enjolras fought during the hospitality ritual? Did he mention something about…?” Joly inquired curiously. 

“No!” Grantaire exclaimed shaking his head with decision. “Or well, yes, in some part, but he didn’t want to… I don’t think he even knows about… I don’t know, he just started babbling about justice and freedom and a bright new future as if he actually believed in that stupid diplomatic rhetoric. You should have heard him, ah! It was almost as if the goddesses of light themselves had weaved their golden rays behind his head to fashion a crown and the god of fire Ignis had placed the embers of his own sacred bonfire in his eyes. And his tone! So sure of himself, so full of self-rightness he seemed ready to fight against the nine armies of the Witches’ War! And his stupid voice, not even the enchanted bees of the goddess Malia could have produced something so sweet and pure and…”

“Oh for the love of the Goddess!” Joly exclaimed bursting into almost maniacal laughter. “R has a crush! A crush on his betrothed!” 

“Don’t be an ass, Joly,” Grantaire said while throwing the pillow against his friend.

“You didn’t deny it though,” Bossuet made him notice with a knowing look. 

“I mean, who wouldn’t develop a crush on him? Have you seen him? Even better, have you heard him? I would say he is the reason there are legends about mermaids living in the Goldthread if I wasn’t sure he’s never even touched that river with a stick. All in all, though, I think it’s only physical attraction, I think it’ll go away around the third or fourth time I’ll hear him rambling about freedom and eternal peace or some other idiotic stuff.” 

“That little speech you gave earlier about the light in his eyes didn’t seem like only physical attraction to me,” Bossuet commented feigning indifference. 

“You know I like to be dramatic,” Grantaire replied and there was no reason in denying that. 

“All right,” Musichetta said trying to call for the attention of her friends. “Whatever the circumstances, R, I need you to be focused on what we’re trying to achieve here, I know it’s not the best of situation and I know it was no easy decision for you, but you not only accepted to be part of this dance, you offered yourself, so now it’s time to dance: wash up, dress properly and try at least not to antagonize him, we’ll work on the magic and romantic love story your sister want so much later.”

“My sister wants what?”

“Don’t worry about it, for now, we’ll talk about it later. Do you think you can manage to do those other things for now?” 

“I promise. Yesterday was just… stressful, I think.” 

“It was for everyone, believe me. I’m sure it was for Enjolras too, but you have another chance today, to talk and know each other better, there is no reason why you shouldn’t at least become friends.” 

“Well, apart from the fact that Enjolras’ family is one of the major financiers of the war that’s killing R’s people every day.”

“You’re not helping Boss, like not at all.” 

“We have to keep in mind that this is why we’re all doing this, especially why R offered himself to do this: the marriage could be the best shot we have to stop the war for good and bring our people back home,” Joly reminded them and both Bossuet and Musichetta nodded in agreement, but the young woman didn’t miss the lost expression on R’s face. She made a mental note to talk to him some more about the whole situation, but at the moment they didn’t have much time.

“All right, then. Joly, help Grantaire make himself presentable, be quick, please. Bossuet, come with me, we’re going to check if Bahorel needs any help and to invite our honorable guests to breakfast. Any questions?” 

“Is my sister coming?” Grantaire inquired while stretching his arms over his head. 

“You can bet she is.”

Grantaire grunted and throw his head back on the pillows. 

“Show her you can take care of this on your own and maybe she’ll stop breathing on your neck. See you on the deck in ten minutes, don’t be late.”

With that Musichetta grabbed Bossuet by the arm and dragged him outside the room. 

“This is a disaster,” she said with complete desperation once in the hallway.

“Don’t be like that, it’s not R’s first hangover, he’ll be up and running in no time. Well, maybe not running exactly, but you know what I mean.” 

“I wasn’t talking about that, Boss, I was talking about this stupid crush he has on his fiancé. It’s simply terrible news.” 

“Now you’re not making any sense at all. Didn’t you say that Lyrian wants Grantaire to act like he’s fallen head over heels with Enjolras? I thought you would be thanking the Goddess for this.” 

“Ah! It’s clear you’ve never seen Grantaire with a crush before.” Musichetta commented bitterly. 

“That’s not true, should I remember you the whole Irma Boissy’s situation of last year? I actually thought the Queen was going to kill us, but I’ve never seen R more openly infatuated before.” 

“That’s because he wanted to get some kind of reaction out of his Royal Mother, the bastard. He was trying to make some kind of point courting Irma as shamelessly as he did, but believe me, he wasn’t in love with her, he didn’t have a crush on her, he barely likes her.” 

“Are you joking? I thought the Queen was going to murder me!” Bossuet exclaimed stopping in the middle of the hallway and looking at Musichetta incredulously. “I made him illegally enter in Princess Irma’s rooms three nights in a row, I could have been imprisoned for that.” 

“I mean, Boss, you would have done it even if you had known he was doing it to piss his mother off.” 

“Yeah, probably, but I would have preferred to know that that was the aim, I’m going to be so mad at him later.” 

“Whatever, we have another problem now. He’s terrible at courting when he has a real crush, I doubt he’ll ever be able to talk to Enjolras again. It’s going to be a disaster,” the young woman said passing a hand between her dark curls with a nervous gesture. 

“Don’t worry, Chetta, we’ve got this, we’re going to help him, guide him a little, this is what friends are for, or not?” Bossuet tried to reassure her squeezing her shoulder kindly and Musichetta tried to hide the pleasing shiver she felt down her spine at the touch. 

“No offense, Boss, but neither you or Joly are very suited to help in this situation, I mean, everyone and their cat knows about your crush and you still act like nothing’s happening.” She said moving away smoothly from the young man’s hand, lest he noticed her reaction, she didn’t have the time nor the inclination to explain that at the moment. 

Bossuet cast his eyes down and scratched the back of his neck with an embarrassed expression. 

“Does everybody really know?” 

“It would be difficult not to notice, you sleep in the same bed practically every night.”

At those words Bossuet’s expression became confused. 

“What? What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t worry about it and it’s not like I’m so much better than you,” Musichetta commented allowing herself one self-deprecating smile, she hated the fact that she wasn’t able to be excited for her friends finally starting doing something about the feelings they clearly had for one another.

She was happy, really she was, she just wished those feelings could involve her too, somehow. 

“Yes, well, you’re right, I suppose,” Bossuet said after clearing his throat. “Jehan and Cosette are terrible too though, luckily we can count on Bahorel, there is no one who could make courting as dramatic and spectacular as him.” 

“He’s going to be so happy.” 

“And Grantaire he’s going to hate us so much.” 

“He’ll have to choose between Bahorel’s romanticism and Lyrian rambling about responsibility.” 

“You have to tell him that Lyrian wants to construct that kind of fairy-tale love story between him and Enjolras, he’s going to find out sooner or later and he won’t be happy that you kept it a secret from him.” 

“I didn’t keep it a secret. I did tell him we’ll talk about it later, didn’t I? I just want to give him a chance to have one normal chat with Enjolras without the pressure of seeming helplessly in love.”   
Bossuet nodded in agreement.

“Yes, it’s probably for the better. It will be a long month, I fear. Hey, listen, why don’t you go to call on our guests, I’ll go help Bahorel with the breakfast.”

“Thank you, Boss, but I’m the oldest member of the Court I have the responsibility of making sure everything is ready and…”

“I know, I know, but it’s just breakfast, Chetta, and Bahorel is the best in this kind of things. You deserve a couple of minutes for yourself.” 

Musichetta was ready to reply but a warning look from Bossuet made her desist. Besides, deep in her heart, she was pleased that Bossuet cared that much about her. 

“All right, but just for this time and if anything is out of place I’m going to skin both you and Bahorel alive,” she warned with a murderous look in her eyes. 

Bossuet laughed, one of his laughs that spread to his whole body and made his eyes bright and warm. Musichetta loved those laughs so much. 

“Threatens, this is what one gets for trying to be nice,” he complained still smiling happily while disappearing up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I disappeared for a while, sorry for that! Life is getting pretty crazy lately so I won't be able to post as regularly as I would have liked, but, alas, better later than never.   
> Hope you're liking this story so far if you did let me know in the comments or come to say hi on my Tumblr   
> [lenezdansleruisseau](https://lenezdansleruisseau.tumblr.com/)


End file.
